


heat waves

by stonefreed



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curse Loopholes, Curses, Fire Emblem: Awakening Spoilers, Hidden Truths DLC, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insomnia, Laslow gets away with figurative murder, Loophole Abuse, M/M, Parental Death, Telling The Truth Is Fucking Scary, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Writing, i'm writing this for me yall are just along for the ride, no beta we die like men, referenced canon typical violence, semi secret relationship, sumia as inigo's mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25838683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonefreed/pseuds/stonefreed
Summary: Xander stares at the canopy above the bed, listening to Laslow’s quiet snoring, and he thinks about the ring in his satchel, worrying about his duties over his personal happiness.or.Laslow and Xander have a heart to heart, without any pretenses.
Relationships: Lazward | Laslow/Marx | Xander
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	heat waves

**Author's Note:**

> hi yeah i have no excuses this is just me being big brained and sexy and writing trans!laslow and xanlow because i've been looking for trans!laslow fics and i want to get AT LEAST ONE fic out during the summer. 
> 
> anyways there's lore with the 3 mu's but i can't fucking be bothered because this is a xanlow fic. and it's not really important atm.
> 
> in all seriousness. i want to explore some loopholes with the valla curse and also i think laslow and xander need 2 sit down and both be vulnerable with each other. also this is me trying to get a grasp on xander as a character.
> 
> Basically: TLDR; telling the truth is scary.

As the Nestrian moon shines brightly in the night sky, illuminating the quiet room where Xander, the First Prince of Nohr will be residing. The summer heat clings even late into the night, with the only reprieve being the cool ocean breeze that stirs the gauzy curtains around the balcony door, and the layers of silk curtains that hang on the sides of the canopy.

Xander stares up at the canopy top over the bed, listening to Laslow’s quiet snoring, and he thinks about the ring in his satchel. Laslow doesn’t know about it, and it eats away at him. Xander’s hand brushes against the length of Laslow’s back, featherlight over neatly maintained dancer’s muscles and scars that litter the mercenary’s body.

Pulling back the covers, Xander swings his legs over the side of the bed, and shudders slightly at the feeling of the cool stone against his feet. His fingers ghost over the small pile of reports that warn of the incoming Hoshidan forces, and the rogue forces led by that revenge fueled, scheming, and manipulative little _traitor_.

( Guilt and shame burn white-hot through Xander’s body as soon as the thought takes a proper form. Were those _his_ words or were they _Garon’s_? Did he even want to know? )

War is here, and soon it will be rolling through, and not even this neutral country will not be spared. The weight of it is in the hushed silences of nobles, and whispered words of the common folk. The whole city seems to be holding its breath for _something._ And that something might leave the whole world in shambles.

Xander rests against the balcony railing, staring out over the city. Magical lights dot the view all the way down to the docks. It is _breathtaking._ Xander has the nagging feeling that it will all be razed down to the ground in flames and destruction.

The cool breeze picks up and whips through Xander’s night clothing, and sends a shiver down his spine, rousing him from his thoughts of war and the gruesome glee that his father had wore as he ordered Camilla and Elise’s heads.

There is a hot hand against the small of his back, the skin almost aflame through the thin fabric.

“ _Xander_?”

There are no titles. Not here, not in _this_ space. There are no expectations of royalty and commoner. _**Here**_ , _in this room_ , there is _only_ a man and his mysterious beloved.

Xander turns. Laslow seems to be scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, and Xander feels guilty for rousing him from his peaceful looking sleep.

Peaceful sleep for _either_ of them was hard to come by, especially as of late.

Laslow looks less human, and more like a creature created from the moonlight, with his hair almost like spun silver from the light. His violet eyes look almost like dried blood.

Xander wants to drown in those eyes. Give himself fully to the darkness lurking behind those smiles. Chase away the ghosts that haunt Laslow. Those are fool’s errands. _Impossible tasks_. Xander knows this. And he would do it _anyways_.

“Did I wake you?” Xander inquires, as Laslow leans against him, and Xander rests his arm over the other’s shoulders. ( One day, they’ll greet Nohr like this, _together_. )

“No.” A pause. “ _Maybe_. I’ve never quite slept well to begin with.”

Xander chuckles with little mirth in his voice. He understands _that_. There’s another brief lapse of quiet, and they can both hear the sound of people stumbling home from the taverns below them. Xander wonders if he were not born a prince, if he and Laslow would not have to keep their romance a thinly veiled secret.

Laslow’s status as one of Xander’s Favorites and his retainer put a target on his back _already_. The highest members of the Nohrian Courtwould scheme to have the poor mercenary killed on the spot if they knew Xander’s feelings towards a largely mysterious man went _beyond_ the lord and retainer camaraderie. (After all, _Xander’s hand_ was the most sought after in all of Nohr.)

“Piece of gold for your thoughts?” Laslow asks, concern worn so freely on his voice and expression.

“What do you think about marriage?” Xander asks, not bothering with any other pretenses.

Laslow looks... _startled_. His eyes go wide, before his brows furrow deeply. It’s an odd look for someone who forced a smile almost every hour he was awake.

“ _I admit_ -” he begins. “I haven’t quite given much thought to it. Though, it could be rather nice, with the right person, I'd wager.”

“I see.” Xander replies, but the rambling strings of words are already out of Laslow’s lips.

“I like the idea of marriage, but _only_ for love. And I’d want that person to love me as much as my mother’s loved each other. I won’t bring children into this world _without_ a loving home.” a brief pause for breath. “And, I don’t think I could marry someone... Who I can’t tell the truth about myself..”

The last part sits between them as heavy as the sultry summer air.

“Do you think _I_ could be that person, Laslow?” _It’s an admittance_ , Xander thinks. An admittance to a weakness that his father had. Falling head over heels in love with the person that gained his utmost confidence.

Laslow looks at him. Stares at him. It’s an unusual expression, sharp and calculating. He leans away from Xander, his gaze slowly travels up the prince’s body, an entirely different look from the other times that Laslow has done this behind closed doors. Xander wonders if _this_ is what the enemies on the other end of his sword see before Laslow takes their life.

As the silence grows, so does the tension. It ticks by agonizingly slow- until, Laslow lets out a tiny laugh that’s more air than sound. “I think you _could_ be.”

_He will make for a very **fine** king consort_, the voice in the back of Xander’s head says. ( It sounds like what Xander _remembers_ of his mother’s voice. )

“Tell me the truth about who you are, Laslow.” It sounds like a _plea_. (Gods forbid anyone hear this.)

A pause. “ You should probably sit down for this one.”

* * *

Laslow calls for tea to be brought up to the room, and Xander sits at the desk- as Laslow flits about the room- a whirlwind of nervous energy. Laslow’s fingers rub at the cheap looking ring that he wears on a necklace. Xander watches him with a steady gaze.

Contrary to popular belief in Krakenburg, Xander _can_ brew and pour his own tea. It’s practically a requirement for any self respecting Nohrian nobleman. Though, he had gotten the impression that Laslow liked drinking Xander’s expensive tea.

Xander lets the fragrance of the flowers drift up to his nose.

“Firstly, my name isn’t Laslow.”

“I am aware.”

Laslow pauses mid stride. Gives Xander one those _odd_ looks, that conveyed that Laslow had been hoping that Xander hadn’t figured _that_ particular falsehood.

“You have to promise me that you’ll believe my words. And that this conversation stays between us. ”

Xander raises his left hand in an oath. “You have your vow of silence, Laslow. On my honor, as a knight.”

“Right, right, yes. _Okay_. That’s one barrier down.” Laslow mutters. Xander is sure he can hear the words _‘breathe Laslow, breathe_!’ uttered under the mercenary’s breath.

“You look faint.” Xander begins, before Laslow cuts him off.

“My real name is Inigo. And, _um_.” a deep breath. “I’m actually from the _future_ , and an entirely different world than this one.”

“You’re _what_.” Xander feels like he’s just been hit in the head.

Laslow continues. Tells Xander all about a world that fell to a corrupt dragon and time traveling children, and how they fought to defy fate itself. How Laslow spent most of his life in that hellish doomed world.

If this were anyone else, at any other time : Xander would’ve laughed them out of the room and straight to a cleric. But- this story was too _specific_ , too _personal_ for it to be a mere tale. And it answered _so many of his questions,_ but _raised_ even more their wake.

Laslow’s story seemed to be winding down, to the point in time where their paths crossed and entangled themselves.

“And Odin, Selena and I ended up here in Nohr on a job to find Lord Marx and Lady Ai and some other people. And then you know the rest from there.”

Xander inhales. Exhales. Pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d be a lot more irate if Laslow wasn’t :

  * In his small clothes, giving Xander a clear view of all the scars that litter Laslow’s body.
  * Looking at Xander with a mixture of fear and apprehension, like all his nightmares were about to come true at that very minute.



The silence stretches on between them. Laslow swallows audibly several times as they sit there in stony silence together.

“I have chosen to _trust_ you.” Xander begins. Laslo- no- _Inigo_ relaxes visibly. “But, who hired you to find Marx and Ai?”

The silence stretched between them, in the worst way possible. Inigo looks panicked, like deer does before it meets its end.

“I can’t.” Inigo mutters.

“You _can_ , Inigo.”

“I, _quite literally_ , can’t!” Inigo has dropped the silly accent, and is replaced with what Xander assumes is his original accent.

Xander finds his irritation growin alongside Inigo’s. “Then, how am I to know that you are not a threat to not only to _me_ but _also_ my fa-”

Inigo interrupts him. “Do you remember the fate of Queen Arete?”

Xander reels back in his seat, feeling like he’s just been hit over the head with the hit of a sword. How in the seven hells did he know about _her_?  
“I do.” He could never forget what he saw that day. A person dissolving into bubbles. His father. _Azura_. A cold feeling washes over Xander, and he can no longer feel the heat of the summer evening, or the hot tea in his hands.

“That would... Happen to me.” Inigo says. “We can’t talk about it. I’m sorry. I don’t want to die like _that_ , Xander. ”

Inigo moves across the room, sits on the bed, and curls his knees to his chest. The distance between the two of them feels nearly impassable. The silence that follows is almost as unbearable as the distance feels.

“Could you write about it?” Xander says, just to break the tension that seemed to be building.

Inigo lifts his head, and looks at him with a curious expression, like the idea _hadn’t_ occurred to him before.

“Ai would write when they did not wish to speak.” Xander starts. “Perhaps we would benefit from such.... An arrangement.”

Inigo balks at him. “I might be here all night.”

“I can wait.”

Inigo gives Xander one of those _unbearably scrutinizing_ looks that seem to rend his soul from his chest for a brief moment. It’s made even worse, since Inigo’s face is partially obscured by shadows and silk curtains. Xander feels a little cowed by that look.

Inigo crosses the room, grabs a spare chair, and sits next to Xander, and is provided with ink and paper.

And Inigo writes. Furiously and nonstop. Xander reads each page carefully, and burns them when he’s done. There are dots starting to connect in his mind, strings that form horrible conclusions that make him feel things that he _thought_ died with the last of the concubines.

* * *

Laslow and Xander agree to sleep in separate rooms, for the time being. They both need the time and space, from each other. 

Laslow must own up to what he’s said to Odin, because Xander is _constantly_ met with a rather menacing glare and cold shoulder from the blond, as Odin seems to chaperone Laslow around in some kind of misguided attempt to protect him. It’s amusing, in a bitter, ironic way.

Laying in his empty bed, Xander thinks about the ring in his satchel. He gets up, and walks two doors down to the room Laslow was staying in. His knuckles rap lightly on the door, and the door opens up at the first touch. The occupant must have been standing right by the door, waiting for him.

Even from here, Xander can smell the sharp nose of alcohol, mixed with Laslow’s cologne. Xander decides that it’s not an _unpleasant_ smell. _Unique_ , but not bad.

“May I come in?” Xander asks. "There are things I wish to discuss."

Laslow’s face is a soft shake of pink. “You may.”

* * *

Within the month, Ai arrives on the shores of Cyrkensia, along with the Hoshidan army with their own dragon tactician. The city is utterly destroyed in the ensuing fight, and when word reaches Garon, Xander realizes that his father revels in the horrible glee of the violence and bloodshed. 

That night, as they make camp to help the survivors of the attack: Xander stares at the top of the tent, listening to Inigo toss restlessly in the cot beside him. He knows Inigo isn’t asleep. Not after that wound Selena gave him, like she could tell that Inigo had broken a sacred pact.

Xander’s mind wanders back to the satchel laying next to their shared cot, and the ring in it. In that moment, Xander decides to make up his mind. Nohr needs _new_ leadership, a new era: distanced from the bloodshed and war that the nation held as a claim to fame. (It would not be an easy path, but nothing worth pursuing was ever as simple.)

“Inigo.” he feels the cot shift, and a grunt of acknowledgement come somewhere from outside his peripheral vision. Xander sits up, and Inigo props himself up on his elbows. Xander holds up the satchel, and produces the purple velvet box from within.

Inigo smiles, and it’s the most _dazzling_ thing Xander has ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> and the people of nohr ate this shit up, because who _doesn't_ like lord/retainer romances?
> 
>   
> i wrote this in 14 hours as a part of a fic jam. i'm not apologizing for anything.
> 
> also, come say hi!!  
> my twitter is @[stone_freed](https://twitter.com/stone_freed) and my tumblr is @[stone-freed](http://stone-freed.tumblr.com/).


End file.
